


Like Water From the Sky

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Credence Barebone Heals, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Declarations Of Love, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Original Percival Graves, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Tender Sex, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Top Credence Barebone, healing together, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: Credence Barebone grew up a few houses away from the handsome, kind-hearted Percival Graves, who has done his best to protect and help Credence since they were kids. Now back for what promises to be a disastrous Thanksgiving, can Graves save Credence one more time? Or is this the day that Credence will save him?
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	Like Water From the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XWTQCqEP9UM) and I do recommend you listen to it either before or while reading, it's definitely the "theme song" for the fic and, IMO, sets the tone and sums up what these two feel for each other pretty well ;)
> 
> TWs:  
> -Mentions of an abusive marriage  
> -Implied child abuse (it's Mary Lou Barebone, so of course)  
> -Brief scene of familial abuse at the beginning  
> -Brief homophobia  
> -Mentions of PTSD related to childhood trauma  
> -Drug use  
> See end notes for detailed spoilers - this fic is mostly emotional fluffy hurt/comfort, so there shouldn't be too much to worry about, but just in case ^_^

Credence wakes up the morning of Thanksgiving with a sick feeling in his belly, shivering with chills that have nothing to do with sleeping in the basement. He grabs his clothes and sprints upstairs to the tiny bathroom off the back landing, showers as fast as he can, makes a quick pass with his electric razor, and throws on his clothes…and opens the door to find his mother waiting. 

“You need a haircut,” she greets him. “What have you been doing in there?”

“Just showering, Ma.”

She scowls. “Wasting time is what you’ve been doing.”

She gives him a list of chores to be done before the rest of the family arrives. He knows better than to ask for breakfast. When he was in college she paid for the absolute minimal meal plan the school offered, 180 meals per semester, which worked out to less than two meals a day. He had to steal from the cafeteria and go to as many campus-sponsored parties as he could to keep from starving.

Even now, when he’s lived on his own a little over a year, Credence still hoards snacks from the break room, and sometimes rations his food at home. He’s gone to great lengths to keep his internet browser history clear even though he has his own computer. He’s quiet—quiet when he cries, quiet when he talks, even quiet during sex, as his ex-boyfriend took great care to inform him.

He knows it’s not healthy to be so afraid all the time. That he is a grown man now and has no reason to fear his family. But fear them he does, and when his mother demanded he come home for Thanksgiving, well. What choice, he thinks, did he have? She’s awful, but she’s family. You can’t hide from family.

When he goes outside to rake the leaves he runs into his neighbor, Tina, setting up a deep-fryer. “My parents’ idea,” she explains with a grin. “You should’ve seen the look on my brother-in-law’s face, I thought he was gonna cry.” Her smile drops when she sees his thin face. “Oh, Cree…here, hold on a sec.”

“You don’t have to,” he begins, but she’s already gone. She ducks into the house and returns with a chocolate-stuffed pastry, the kind her brother-in-law makes at his specialty bakery. Credence tries to stay polite and stoic, but he can’t help but moan as the chocolate melts on his tongue. “It’s so _good,”_ he sighs.

“I’ll tell Jacob. It’s a new recipe, he’ll be glad to know it’s a good one.”

Tina took over her parents’ house when they moved into assisted living a few years back, and she worries over Credence every time he comes home for a break. She probably knows more about him than Ma does now. “So, how’s stuff going with you?” she asks as he continues eating. “Still seeing what’s-his-name, that guy you met at the Pride Prom?”

Credence shakes his head. “No, we broke up last week.”

She frowns. “I thought it was going well? You two were together, what, a year?”

“Year and a half. But. Um. He wanted to come home with me for Thanksgiving. I tried to tell him no and he got mad at me. Said I had to stand up to Ma and when I told him he’d be better off if he didn’t meet her, he didn’t believe me.”

Tina gives him a pained look. “I’m sorry. That had to be rough.”

He forces a smile. “Just a college romance, those never last, right? I’ll live.”

The truth is, Credence hasn’t slept well since the breakup. Ian was the first person Credence dated who he trusted enough to tell him the truth about his family, and it crushes him that the first time he tried to open up to someone, he was cruelly rejected and told, just as he always is at home, _you’re not enough. You’re weak. You’re broken. I don’t want you unless you can do exactly what I want and even then I’ll demand more._

He doesn’t think that Tina’s really fooled, but she smiles bracingly and reaches across to the fence to squeeze his arm. “There’s someone out there for you,” she promises. “In the meantime…if there’s _anything_ you need, please let me know.”

Credence says he will. In his heart, he knows he won’t. It’s his cross to bear, after all, not hers.

~

Credence just barely finishes raking the leaves, washing Mary Lou’s car, making up the guestroom beds, cleaning both bathrooms, and cleaning up the mess that she made of the kitchen sink with that monster of a turkey before the Shaws arrive. 

Henry Shaw Sr., Credence’s maternal grandfather, is almost as unpleasant as his daughter, and he raised two sons who are so abhorrent Credence hates to be in the same room as them. They’re racist, homophobic, greedy creeps who think the world owes them a reward just for existing, and he knows that they think of him as someone the world would be better off without.

They all watch the parade—or, more accurately, the rest of the family watches the parade while Credence brings them drinks and appetizers, then retreats to the kitchen to avoid their litany of complaints about him. At one point he downs a glass of wine because it’s better than sitting there not doing anything. _What a holiday,_ he thinks grimly. _Next time I’ll tell them I have work._

Credence works as a nurse at a doctor’s office, which is great in theory, but in practice means that he has a 9-5 schedule whereas just about every other nurse he knows gets the excuse of “crazy scheduling” to get out of family gatherings like these. But his mother doesn’t know that, so maybe for Christmas, he thinks with a heavy sigh, he can get away with telling her he has to work.

When he goes back in to refill drinks, his uncle Langdon asks if he has a girlfriend. “I just broke up with someone,” Credence answers evasively.

“Notice he doesn’t say who,” Uncle Henry remarks snidely. “Let me guess, Credence, she was from Canada?”

“Royal Oak, actually.” It’s true. Ian does in fact live in Royal Oak, just a few towns away. “Anyway. I don’t really want to talk about it, I—”

“That’s because she doesn’t exist,” Langdon snorts. He grabs Credence around the waist and roughly pulls him down on the couch between him and Henry. “Look at this little twig. Who’d want a piece of this?” He reaches over and pinches Credence’s slim thigh through his jeans, hard enough to bruise. “No one in their right mind wants to sleep with a guy who looks like he’d blow away with a strong wind.”

“Or cry for his mommy if someone challenged him to a fight,” Langdon agrees, gripping the back of Credence’s neck. “You dug your own grave, kid. Choose a sissy profession like nursing, go around looking like a skeleton with hair, and no way are you ever going to get laid.”

“We need to toughen him up,” Henry adds. “So his girlfriend, if he ever gets one, can’t beat him up.”

“Or his boyfriend,” Langdon snorts, and they both laugh uproariously at that.

Credence wants to throw up. He hates these people, _hates_ them! His mother just sits there and lets his uncles manhandle and mock him; his grandfather looks down his nose at him…he knows they’re family and he should care, he should love them, but right now, all he wants is to get away.

Grandpa Henry demands a refill. Credence dutifully goes and gets him another glass of wine, but Langdon trips him and down he goes, wine glass shattering on the hardwood floor.

“Credence!” Mary Lou practically screams. “Useless, _stupid_ boy—I don’t know why I bother, you can’t even do the simplest of tasks—” She clucks her tongue and glares at him while he cleans it up. “I don’t know why I paid for you to go to school and learn a trade if you can’t even serve your own family properly.”

“I’m sorry, Ma.”

She glares at him even harder. “You’re lucky we have company,” she tells him coldly, the _or I’d belt you like you still lived under my roof_ going unsaid.

He apologizes again, replaces the broken glass of wine, and waits for everyone to be distracted with their discussion of the evils of the democratic party before he grabs a coat and sneaks out the back door.

~

Credence knows his escape is pointless, that he will eventually have to go back, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it just yet. It’s gloomy outside, all rainy and gray and cool, but he loves the smell of rain, and the sound the raindrops make when they hit the hood of his windbreaker, and the feeling of the drops on his hands and face.

It’s weird, he knows, but Credence has always found rain soothing, and right now, he needs all the comfort he can get. He’d kill for a joint—yes, he knows it’s a bad habit, but Ian got him into weed and, well, _yeah;_ look at his family, can you blame him?—but there’s no point in trying to light up in the rain. So he just wanders down the street, savoring the fresh air and silence.

“Credence? Credence Barebone, is that you?”

He starts a little and looks up. Oh. He’s in front of the Graves’ house. He didn’t mean to come here, but…well…

The Graves family absolutely can’t stand his mother (she runs the closest thing this tiny, sleepy town has to a megachurch and they’re Episcopalian; they’ve never had any patience for her hateful brand of Christianity) but they’ve always been kind to him. He doesn’t have many happy memories on this street, honestly, but the few he does all belong to this family. He remembers sneaking out when Ma left him alone and coming here on hot summer nights to drink sticky glasses of Kool-Aid and play checkers under the flickering porch light. He learned to ride a bike in the Graves’ driveway, learned to drive in their old silver Toyota pick-up.

And through it all Percival Graves was there, strong and handsome and kind, ten years older than Credence but always gentle with him, always willing to reach out if he knew Credence needed something warm and reassuring and solid to hold onto. He was the first person Credence came out to, a whispered, broken confession on a chilly autumn night, and when Credence cried, too frightened and unhappy to make himself stop, Percy was the one to hold him, calm him, tell him _it’s okay Credence, it’s okay, me too, it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you, it’s just the way we are, you don’t have to be scared._

Credence manages a wave and an exhausted smile. He hasn’t seen Percy in-person since right before he graduated, but the association of comfort and safety is still there and he gladly welcomes it. “Hey, Percy. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, fine. And it’s _Graves_ now, kid, I’ve told you a dozen times.” He kicks his car door shut and tries to balance the five giant tupperware boxes in his hands. “Give us a hand, would you? I promised I’d be on dessert duty and I’m seriously regretting that now, my family eats like it’s their last meal on every holiday…”

Credence doesn’t mind helping in the least; if nothing else it delays the moment he has to go back to his own house. So he takes the stack of tupperware and follows Graves onto the porch and right up to the front door…and that, of course, is when the games begin. Graves’ mother Keely, a warm and pretty woman who couldn’t be less like Mary Lou if she tried, flings open the front door just as they get there. When she sees Credence, her eyes light up. “Oh my goodness! You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date!” she gasps.

Graves winces and tries to tell her, “Mum, it’s not like that, Credence is just—”

“Little Credence! Oh, you _have_ grown up,” she coos, reaching out and taking the tupperware off his hands. “Now you come right on in, dear…my goodness, look how _thin_ you are! Percival, really, you should feed him better.”

Graves sighs and shoots Credence an apologetic look as his mother continues to fuss over him. When Keely has finally had her fill of embarrassing her son and has trundled off to the kitchen with the desserts he brought, he turns to Credence and says with a sigh, “So, I don’t suppose you want to stay for dinner?”

Credence should say no. He should go home to Ma and let her run him ragged. He should leave now before the entire household gets wind of the idea that he and Graves are dating. He should pretend the last fifteen minutes didn’t happen.

“I will if you want me to,” he says instead.

And Percival Graves’ eyes light up like he’s just been given the best gift of his life, like Christmas has come a month early and he can’t believe what’s waiting for him underneath the tree. “I’d like nothing more,” he says with a smile, reaching out to brush a loose, damp lock of hair off Credence’s cheek. “I didn’t think you’d come home for the holiday, figured you’d want to be as far away from that house as possible.”

Graves knows a bit of what Credence has been subjected to over the years, as does Keely. They tried to get him out when he was a kid, but Mary Lou was just too good at “beating the system” for him to be taken away. Credence swallows, wonders if Graves is judging him for subjecting himself to it. “Yeah,” he finally says, soft and noncommittal.

“Well,” Graves tells him with a smile, “it still works out. Because if I’d known you were coming home, I’d have asked you to be my date anyway.”

Something warm and delicious wells up inside Credence and suddenly he can’t stop smiling. He’s sure it’s just the old protective nature coming out, just Graves trying to take care of the broken boy down the street just like in the old days. But something in the achingly tender way his childhood protector is looking at him now says otherwise. “Dates, huh? Well. If you’re trying to ask a guy out this is a heck of a way to do it.”

Graves—strong, smart, tough Percival Graves, who has probably slept with more beautiful people than Credence has even met—actually _blushes._ “Didn’t really know that was an option,” he says carefully, “until I saw you coming up the street. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to ambush you—”

“Percy, it’s okay,” Credence cuts him off. “You didn’t ambush me. Really. Well, maybe you did a little, but don’t mind, honest I don’t. I’m thrilled to be your date for Thanksgiving.” He reaches out and laces his fingers through Graves’ and something about it feels…right. Familiar, and easy. And _good._

And when he looks up from their joined hands he sees that same sweet, tender look in Graves’ eyes and he knows his old friend is feeling it too.

~

At Credence’s house, Thanksgiving dinner is dry turkey and mushy canned vegetables and watery instant mashed potatoes, followed by six hours of sitting together reading from the bible and praying over all those sinners who aren’t going to heaven because they say Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas.

At the Graves house, Thanksgiving is apparently a giant party. The dining room is laid out like a restaurant buffet: one table with just the turkey, beautifully carved and rubbed with garlic butter; one table groaning under the weight of at least fifteen side dishes, and one full of delicious-looking desserts. There’s a football game playing in the finished basement rec room for the adults, a Disney movie playing in the upstairs living room for the kids.

Keely takes great care to show off Credence to every single family member, some of whom he’s already met, and tell them with enthusiasm that he’s “Percival’s _special_ friend.” “They’ve known each other since Credence was tiny,” she gushes to Graves’ very amused-looking great-aunt. “I thought they’d never work out how much they like each other…especially when Percival married that absolute _trash_ from the hotel…” She scowls, then brightens. “But looks like they figured it out after all, isn’t this great?”

Credence spends the first half-hour trying not to laugh, as Graves’ family’s reactions to him range from “comically delighted” to “coolly approving.” He loses Graves somewhere in the chaos but doesn’t mind, because he knows a fair few of these people and he’s familiar enough with the house to feel at ease. But he’s still glad when Graves inevitably catches up to him again and sweeps him off to the dining room to get their food. 

“Want to go downstairs and watch the Lions game?” Graves asks as they load their plates. “Or would you rather stay up here and eat with the kids?”

“Whatever you want to do is fine.” Credence could care less about the Lions game. But he doubts he’ll be conscious of where he is in the next hour or so anyway. He looks down at his plate and has to swallow a few times: white meat turkey, mashed potatoes, corn stuffing, green beans, macaroni and cheese, creamy pumpkin risotto, raw vegetables with a delicious-smelling lentil dip, garlic breadsticks, and thick mozzarella cheese logs. Mary Lou would die on the spot if she knew he was about to eat this much—but she’s not here, and Credence is so hungry after three days of being virtually starved at home.

Graves ends up taking them to sit with the kids in the living room. “They won’t ask questions,” he explains with a grin.

Sure enough, the kids are too absorbed in _The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh_ to even notice a stranger on their couch. Meanwhile David, Graves’ cousin, and his wife Rachel come in with their two-year-old son Eamon, and watch him play on the rug while Rachel interrogates Credence—how long have they been together, how did they meet, does he have a criminal record, etc. Finally Graves cuts her off and exasperatedly informs her, “We’ve known each other since he was in first grade, for God’s sake. He’s not going to hurt me.”

Credence blushes at the implications. But all Rachel says is, “Okay, good.” To Credence she adds, a little apologetically, “If you know how it ended with the last guy you’ll understand.”

“Rachel,” Graves warns her in a low voice.

David reaches out and lays a warning hand on Rachel’s arm. “We don’t talk about him,” he tells her, quietly but firmly. He gives Credence an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind Rachel. She just likes to look after the people she loves. And I do too. But I trust you, Percy likes you a lot, he’s talked about you since—”

“First of all,” Graves breaks in with the merest trace of a growl, “I don’t need a committee to help me decide who I should date. And second of all, the next person to call me _Percy_ gets a turkey leg to the face.”

Credence can’t help it, a tiny laugh bursts free. Graves raises his eyebrows. “Okay…Percy,” Credence says, barely able to contain a bust of giggles at the look on Graves’ face.

“All right, that’s it,” Graves announces ominously as he sets his plate aside. He gets up, leaves, and returns with…Credence bursts into amazed laughter…a soft, plush toy drumstick with big, sparkly blue eyes embroidered on the front. He uses this to very gently tap Credence on the head twice, then nods and rumbles a satisfied, “There, that should teach you,” sits back down, and calmly resumes eating his dinner.

It’s not _that_ funny, but Credence can’t remember the last time he laughed like this, so hard the muscles in his ribs spasm and tears run down his face, the kind of all-consuming laugh that only happens when you _need_ to laugh so hard you lose your mind. He only realizes when he’s fully recovered that Rachel is still cracking up, David looks amusedly resigned, and the kids all look utterly bewildered. The youngest ones are staring baldly at him like he’s some kind of strange animal they’ve found in a zoo.

But Graves…Graves is looking at him like he’s the most beautiful and precious thing in the universe. Credence meets his gaze head on, giving him a real smile instead of the shy, nervous things he used to spare for Ian, and a shiver of pleasure runs down his spine when Graves reaches up to brush away a few stray tears with his thumb. 

Credence has always _liked_ Graves, always known on an objective level that the gentle, protective older boy who was so kind to him in his childhood is easy on the eyes. But for the first time now he has a sense of how it might feel to like him, really like him, in the same way that Graves apparently likes him…and it feels nice. _Really_ nice.

Maybe he’s just hungry for affection, maybe he just needs something to soothe the pain inflicted by his family or bandage the wounds left by his breakup. But even if that’s the case, Credence is definitely down for this ride.

~

The rain stops sometime during the dinner, and as the sun bursts through the trees and bathes the backyard in late-afternoon sunlight the kids and some of the younger dads go out to the backyard for a game of football. “Want to join them?” Graves asks with a grin.

Credence rolls his eyes. He’s ben tucked up under Graves’ arm for the last half hour, on the cusp of a food coma, and it’s fairly obvious he’s never felt less like playing football. “I will murder you if you make me move,” he says sleepily.

Graves chuckles and squeezes him close. “Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

The _sweetheart,_ combined with the deeply pleasurable warmth of Graves’ strong body against his, could drive Credence to tears. He sighs deeply and melts further into the soothing embrace…and then lets out an annoyed whine as his phone vibrates for what must be the twentieth time. “My mother,” he says when Graves looks at him curiously. Tears prick his eyes. He suddenly feels vulnerable. “I should go. She could be…worried.”

“You can go if you need to. But I kind of like you right where you are.” Graves gently drops a kiss on the top of his head, and a little jolt of pleasure sears through Credence’s veins like a drug.

Speaking of which… “You want to be a little bad with me?” Credence offers with a smile that he hopes qualifies as mysterious.

Graves smiles back indulgently, brushing Credence’s bangs from his eyes. “Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

Ten minutes later finds them on the front porch, the sounds of the football game floating up to them from the backyard and providing an adorably contrasting soundtrack to their current activity: sharing the joint that Credence quite luckily had with him when he left earlier. 

“I kept it with me in case of emergency,” Credence feels compelled to explain. “Didn’t think I could actually get away with smoking it, but…well. I kind of felt like I might need something to get through that dinner and…”

“You don’t have to justify it to me. Does it look like I’m complaining?” Graves assures him with a wicked grin as he takes a hit from the joint. “Mmm. God, that’s nice. I haven’t smoked since college.”

“Will your family freak out if they smell this on you?”

“No. Only one who might be a little concerned is David, but he just worries too much. Could probably use a hit of this, between you and me.” 

They smoke in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Credence is just beginning to feel the effects when Graves suddenly says, “I _am_ a little surprised to see _you_ doing something like this, though. You always were the good kid.”

“Funny what years of abuse and neglect can make a person do,” Credence says candidly.

Graves winces. “Jesus, Credence.”

“Sorry,” he says, not really sorry. “Nothing you didn’t already know, though.”

Graves thinks it over for a second. Then he laughs, suddenly and unexpectedly, and Credence looks up at him, unable to keep his own lips from quirking as Graves shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing.” He looks down at the joint in his hand and mutters, “God, this stuff works a lot faster than I remember.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Credence turns his back to the street and stretches out his back, using the porch railing to keep himself steady. “I can’t believe I just ran away like that,” he says absently. The drug has already hit him and he feels too relaxed to really care any more. But—a sudden fit of giggles hits him—wouldn’t it be funny if Ma came along now and saw him? On a date with the handsome son of the dreaded hippie-Christian Graves family, smoking weed after gorging himself on a decadent Thanksgiving dinner?

He feels a gentle hand rubbing circles on his back and moans softly at the touch. Graves rumbles a soft _mmm_ in reply, and leans in close. Credence realizes he’s just the slightest bit taller than Graves, and it makes him feel…he’s not sure how it makes him feel, actually. Amused, for one thing: he remembers a time when he was the short one.

Now he cups Graves’ face in his palms and presses their foreheads together. “How long,” he hears himself ask, “have you been in love with me?”

Graves lets out a quivering laugh. “Oh, Credence. Don’t ask questions you don’t really want to know the answers to, baby.”

“So…what I’m hearing,” and suddenly he can’t stop giggling again, “is that you were totally creeping on me when I was a kid, right?”

“No!” Graves protests, but he’s laughing too, and he pulls away and pretends to swat Credence on the arm. He doesn’t actually make contact, though, and Credence’s heart swells; he knows Graves is thinking of Mary Lou. “No, no, no. It’s not like— _no._ I certainly didn’t think of you when we were _that_ young.”

“Then when?” Credence presses. “When I was in high school? College? At what point did you look at me and go _you know what, this child that I’ve protected and cared for since I was sixteen is actually very sexy, maybe it would behoove me to hit that?”_

Graves snorts. “Nice to know you get wordy when you’re high.” Then he sighs and, as if to just give him something to do, smokes again to buy himself some time. Credence waits patiently until Graves finally looks at him again and says, “I wish I could tell you I did know from the start. That I kept you so close and was so gentle with you because I knew you’d be special to me…but it wasn’t like that. You were young, vulnerable, I just wanted to help you.”

“You did,” Credence assures him. “I always felt safe with you, no matter what else was happening at home.”

Graves nods. “Well. Good. That’s good.” He wraps an arm around Credence and squeezes gently. Lifts the joint to Credence’s lips to give him another hit, an act that feels achingly intimate. “And then…I don’t know. I was married for a while…” He lets out a snort of sarcastic laughter. “It’s funny. I think I was always attached to you, so I went and married someone who was your exact opposite.”

“Who?”

“This fucker from the hotel where I was doing some financial consulting. He was a charmer, I’ll give him that. Made me feel so on top of the world fantastic I thought I might just burst…then when he had my trust he tore me apart until there was nothing left. Got jealous, possessive. I kept thinking _he’s just upset, it’ll be okay._ Didn’t wise up until he belted me in the mouth after he went through my phone and found texts from someone he wouldn’t believe was just a friend.”

Credence gasps softly, a little twinge of pain cutting through the cotton-ball haze of the weed. “Oh.”

“Yeah…’s okay, though. And I swear that’s not just the weed talking. Well…” Suddenly the somber mood breaks as Graves laughs again, a real laugh, not the bitter sarcastic one from a minute ago, and he leans in and plants a soft, messy kiss on the side of Credence’s face. “Maybe a little bit of the weed talking. Maybe not. I don’t know. All I know is that my mother sent me your graduation photos last year, and the sight of you in your cap and gown was the _last_ fucking thing I ever expected to make me go weak in the knees over you, but…”

“Aww, really?” Credence giggles a little at the thought of him making _anyone_ go weak in the knees. He’s always had the sneaking suspicion that he liked Ian more than Ian liked him; to know that Graves not only realized his feelings first, but felt it so keenly, gives him a heady little rush of excitement.

“Oh yeah.” Graves leans in and kisses his face again, a little more gently this time. “Yeah. You looked good in those pictures. All bright-eyed and serious and smart…it was the first time I looked at you and saw a handsome man instead of that cute little kid who used to follow me around, and…”

Credence pushes himself off the railing and turns to face Graves, his heartbeat steady even as butterflies materialize in his stomach. “And?” he prompts.

Graves looks down at the porch for the briefest moment before he looks back up to Credence, his eyes already red from the drugs, but a smile on his face that could light up all of Detroit. “And I’ve been in love with you ever since. Is that what you want to hear, baby? That you knocked me right off my feet without even trying?”

“That’s a start,” Credence says casually, as if it doesn’t affect him at all.

There’s dead silence for a moment. Graves almost looks disappointed. And then he sees that Credence is trying not to laugh, which makes him laugh, which in turn sets Credence off, and they continue to stand there laughing like idiots until their stomachs hurt and they can barely breathe.

~

They stay outside a while, until it’s well past dark and Credence’s mother has called him another seven times, until the high wears off a little and the wind has helped the smell fade a little. Still, Keely and Rachel both wrinkle their noses when the pair of them come back inside, but all Keely does is sigh, spray them down with FeBreeze, and very calmly inform Graves, “Next time, have the decency to wear a rain slicker or something so you don’t come back in the house smelling like a skunk.”

“Your mom is so nice,” Credence stage-whispers to Graves, as if it’s his first time discovering that fact. Rachel breaks down and cracks up at that, while Keely just smiles, affectionately shakes her head at him, and directs them both back to the dining room.

Which turns out to be a good idea, because Credence is suddenly, desperately hungry again, and the pumpkin cheesecake squares and butterscotch pie and maple raspberry fudge are all just calling his name, and apparently Graves is right there with him. They fill their plates with treats and settle down in the basement den to watch _The Ref_ with the other adults; apparently a tradition in the Graves family is to watch the first Christmas movies of the year on Thanksgiving.

“Beats my family’s traditions,” Credence says after they’re settled on the couch together. (If anyone notices or cares that Graves is practically in Credence’s lap, they say nothing.)

“What does your family do, then?” Graves asks absently, picking through his dessert plate to find a piece of fudge.

“Yell at each other and then pray that people don’t go to hell for drinking Starbucks coffee out of red cups instead of Jesus-themed cups.” Graves nearly drops his food, and Credence snorts at the mingled disgust and sympathy on his face. “Yeah, exactly.”

They feed each other bites of cheesecake and playfully nibble each other’s fingers through the movie, and if anyone notices they don’t seem to care. Just as the high from the weed is beginning to wear off Graves goes and gets a bottle of champagne from upstairs and makes them some kind of delicious cocktail with cranberry juice and triple sec, and Credence moans appreciatively as the fruity bubbles fizz up his nose at the first taste. Relaxed and unbelievably happy, he floats through the rest of the movie, comfortably full of sugar and carbs and alcohol, and absolutely not caring at all that if he goes home like this he will be beaten within an inch of his life.

When he voices this thought to Graves, the older man looks alarmed. “Oh, love, no. You won’t go home, then. You’ll stay right here where I can protect you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Credence, sweetheart, I couldn’t protect you the way I wanted to when we were kids. Let me look after you now.”

Well. Credence certainly isn’t going to say no to that. Especially not when Graves is looking at him like he, scrawny and unimportant Credence Barebone, is the center of his universe.

~

Graves takes him upstairs to bed while there are still some extended family members hanging around downstairs. The party is still going, but Credence is tired and wants to be alone and Graves is happy to oblige. His childhood bedroom is just as welcoming and cozy as Credence remembers, with a full size captain’s bed built under the window, a reading nook in the corner (bean-bag chairs, stuffed animals and an overflowing bookshelf), and no overhead light, just floor lamps and little holiday lights that Credence can still remember young Graves stringing from the ceiling. 

“So, here we are,” he says as Graves closes the door behind them.

“Here we are,” Graves agrees, and he looks a little nervous. “We don’t, um. We don’t have to…I can go find a camp cot or something in the basement if you’re not comfortable—”

“Percival,” Credence cuts him off, “I want to stay with you tonight.”

The sound of his first name seems to send him over the edge, because with a low, aching groan Graves surrenders and closes the gap between them, and Credence finds himself caught up in a tender, passionate embrace with a hungry mouth descending onto his. He needs no encouragement to return the kiss, twisting his hands into Graves’ long hair and pulling him in close, nearly swallowing him whole in his need to kiss back, to take, to assure Graves that he is wanted as much as he wants.

They stand in the center of the room like that for a long time, kissing and caressing and exploring, fast and slow and hungry and gentle all at once. “Tell me what you want,” Graves urges, a throaty moan escaping as Credence’s hands tangle in his hair and pull. “Ooh,” he groans, and Credence does it again. “Oh God. Yeah. I like that.”

“Noted.” Credence unknots the man’s tie, pushes his jacket off and unbuttons his shirt, before he twines both arms around Graves’ neck and pulls him back in for a messy, wet, absolutely filthy kiss. Graves moans into the kiss and slows it down to something more sweetly passionate, cupping Credence’s face in his palms and taking delicate baby sips from his mouth. He nibbles Credence’s lower lip with care, traces his thumbs over Credence’s cheekbones and strokes the back of his neck with his fingertips like he’s trying to memorize every bit of Credence’s face.

Credence feels his knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Graves is laying him back so gently, one hand sliding under Credence’s sweater again and stroking his skin as if he’s something precious, and Credence thinks he could definitely get used to this.

But it’s not enough, he wants more, wants to _take._ He flips them over so that Graves is pinned underneath him, sits up and peels his sweater over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Graves can’t see the scars from this angle and he feels beautiful, sexy, empowered. “If you want me to fuck you I will,” he offers impulsively. He’s never topped anyone before but, really, how hard can it be?

Judging by the way Graves arches up and actually _whimpers_ underneath him, he seems to like that idea. “Oh sweetheart,” he groans, his voice low and raw and deliciously needy.

Credence feels desire, dark and hungry, rising inside of him. Graves is beautiful like this, spread-eagled and wanton, his body pulsing with the pleasure that Credence is making him feel, and Credence wants more. He leans down and maps the curve of Graves’ neck, the sharp line of his jaw, with his mouth. Graves moans low in the back of his throat, hips twitching.

 _He’s hard,_ Credence realizes, exhilarated at the thought of making this beautiful, sexy, _strong_ man come apart under his touch. He makes short work of both their pants and strokes every bit of Graves’ exposed skin, licking his lips at every shudder and moan. Even now when there is visible hard, leaking evidence of his need, Graves stays patient and docile, and lets Credence take what he wants.

Rain has begun to fall again, lashing against the windows and swishing through the trees. The room is warm and the light is dim and Credence feels more relaxed now than he’s been in months. He leans down and kisses Graves, deep and slow and tender, until he pulls back just enough to whisper against his lips, “I want to be inside you.”

“Yes, God yes, I want that too,” Graves says breathlessly, and Credence smiles to himself as he sits back up. It’s so easy to turn Graves on, to make him _want,_ and Credence likes that he has that power.

Credence lounges in bed, feeling decadent and spoiled, as Graves throws back on just enough clothing to be decent, runs down to the bathroom to get supplies, and returns triumphantly with a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube. Credence can’t help but laugh as Graves rips off his clothes like they’re covered in radioactive waste and launches himself back into bed. 

And then his giggles quickly turn to moans as Graves covers him with his entire body and smothers him with a hot, devouring kiss. “You’ve made me wild, sweetheart,” Graves whispers against his lips, spreading Credence out in his bed and running his hands down the length of his body.

Now it’s Graves’ turn to make Credence’s eyes roll with pleasure and oh, he _does._ He _worships_ Credence, mapping out his body with slow, soft touches and even slower, softer kisses. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, lips making a ticklish pattern on Credence’s belly. “Every bit of you. It’s all just fucking perfect. God I want to make you feel good…”

“Then don’t stop,” Credence orders, reestablishing his dominance by reaching down and tugging a handful of Graves’ hair, just to make him shiver.

“As you wish, baby,” Graves murmurs into the soft skin of Credence’s stomach. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Well. In that case…” Credence pushes him off so he can flip them over again. Heart skipping with excitement he picks up the lube, pops open the cap and kneels between Graves’ spread legs. He’s never done this to anyone but himself, but surprisingly now that the moment of truth is here, he isn’t nervous. Graves will be good, he thinks. He’ll tell Credence what he likes.

Credence works in one finger up to the first knuckle, caressing and circling the fluttering rim. Graves keens softly and arches into the touch. “So good, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Oh God. Yeah. Just like that…” Credence watches his face closely as he works his way in deeper. A bolt of raw arousal hits him at the sight of Graves’ eyes fluttering, his lips parting in a pleading gasp as Credence continues his ministrations.

With another generous application of lube he works in a second finger and begins to stretch Graves in earnest, pleased when his actions draw another aching groan from his lover. He probes a little deeper, strokes the walls of Graves’ clenching, needy channel, watches in awe when he finds the spot he’s looking for and it makes Graves’ eyes roll back into his head, a broken moan spilling from his lips.

“Do you want me to make you come like this?” Credence offers as he works a third finger inside.

Graves makes a strangled noise as a full-body shudder rolls through him. “I don’t know if I can help it at this point,” he admits, his voice raspy with desire. A familiar flush is rising in his face, his lips constantly parted as he lets out needy little gasps, his hips jerking in a desperate, syncopated rhythm.

Credence recognizes it all, because he is usually on the receiving end of this and he knows what Graves is feeling, knows how vulnerable it feels to put one’s body and pleasure in the hands of another person. With his free hand he reaches out and soothingly strokes Graves’ belly, even as he continues to finger and stretch him, and urges him gently, “It’s okay, Just relax and let it happen.”

“I don’t—I don’t know if I—I don’t want it to be over,” Graves protests, and then his eyes slam shut as Credence very deliberately teases the spot that makes him shudder and writhe. “Oh God,” he yelps, his head flung back as his entire lower body convulses, his cock pulsing and spilling untouched on his caving belly.

“It’s not over,” Credence promises as Graves’ breathing slowly calms. He waits for Graves to stop trembling with aftershocks, then gently withdraws his fingers and preps himself, rolling on a condom and slicking himself up with lube before he very carefully raises and spreads Graves’ knees. “I’m going to fuck you now, okay?”

Graves manages a little _mmm_ of assent, eyes still closed, entire body limp in the aftermath of his orgasm. His eyes flutter when Credence slowly eases his way in. “Oh God,” he breathes, and then, with a low growl in his throat, “oh _fuck,”_ as Credence bottoms out. When he opens his eyes again all the way they’re wet, and he reaches up and strokes Credence’s cheek with the back of his hand as he says, “You feel so perfect, sweetheart. I knew you would.”

“No pain?”

“Oh, no. Definitely no pain.” He lets his head fall back, a throaty moan escaping as Credence experimentally rolls his hips. “Oh yeah. Oh, that’s nice. Keep—ahh. Yeah. More of that please.”

It’s almost overwhelming, feeling Graves’ body so tight and _warm_ around him, and all Credence can think is that he’s really been missing out, bottoming all this time. He rocks into Graves, slow and easy at first, and then with bolder, deeper strokes, moaning helplessly at the feeling: it’s like Graves’ body is trying to suck him back in every time he pulls back, desperately clenching his cock every time he slides home. 

“I love this,” he breathes as he speeds up, watching in awe as Graves’ eyes flutter and roll, that beautiful flush rising in his cheeks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips between hungry moans.

And oh, he _does_ sound and _feel_ hungry, his hands clutching at Credence like a lifeline as he meets Credence on every stroke. “So good, so _good.”_ he moans as he writhes under Credence’s touch. “Please, sweetheart, _harder—”_

And of course, Credence isn’t going to deny him that. He continues to fuck into Graves, progressively harder and faster, his breath coming in sharp pants as sweat plasters his hair to his face. He throws Graves’ legs up over his shoulders and grips Graves’ thighs hard enough to bruise, driving in harder and deeper with each stroke. 

“Fuck,” Graves moans, head flung back, throat pulsing as he swallows hard. “Fuck, I’m—I’m _close_ again, I didn’t think—”

Credence moans at the thought that he’s made Graves feel so good, so wild and wanton and pleasure-drunk, that he’s about to come again before his body would normally be ready. He fucks him harder, faster, and Graves continues to whimper and moan, his desperate noises of pleasure mingling with Credence’s as they both get closer to the edge.

Touch yourself,” Credence urges, and Graves _does,_ a keen leaving his throat as he desperately jerks himself. “That’s it, just like that,” Credence pants as he feels pleasure pool low in his belly. His orgasm is approaching, steady and inevitable, and he picks up the pace, angling his thrusts for the spot that makes Graves shudder and gasp. “Almost there—that’s it—oh please, _please_ come for me again Graves, please—”

He feels Graves clench down around him, feels another full-body shiver wrack his lover’s body, and that’s enough, that’s it—Credence comes with a drawn out cry, and beneath him Graves quivers through his second climax with a sob of pleasure, Credence’s name spilling from his lips like a mantra. He tries not to collapse on top of Graves but he does anyway. Given that Graves immediately clamps onto Credence like a lamprey eel, he apparently doesn’t mind.

“I love you,” Credence breathes into the curve of Graves’ neck. “I think I’ve always loved you.”

Graves just lies beneath him, still trembling in the aftermath of his intense second climax. He tries to speak a couple of times, can’t seem to manage to form proper words, and in the end he says nothing, just shows Credence how he feels by holding onto him for all he’s worth.

~

“I’m never going back.”

Graves pauses in his task of rooting around in the refrigerator for leftover butterscotch pie and turns to Credence with a quizzical look. “Never going back home, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

It’s well past midnight. Every member of Graves’ extended family has either left for the night or passed out in a guestroom. The whole house is quiet and dark; the two of them didn’t even bother to turn on the lights in the kitchen when they came down for a midnight snack.

After Graves recovered enough to breathe earlier he did in fact return the _I love you,_ then made Credence get off him and lie still while he cleaned them both up. They napped a while all tangled up together, Graves’ back pressed to Credence’s chest, Credence protectively holding Graves for once instead of the other way around. When they woke up, stirred by the warmth and closeness of their bodies and the emotional high of their newly-discovered feelings for each other, they made love again.

Credence grabbed his phone on the way out to use as a flashlight if needed, and found that he is the proud owner of twenty-three missed calls, eight voicemails, and forty-seven increasingly pissed-off texts from his mother, his grandfather, and his uncles. _We’re worried about you, come home_ doesn’t take long to fade into _you’re a disgrace to the family._ He doesn’t want to know the content of those voicemails.

Graves just nods when Credence says he’s not going home, and waits until they’ve collected their food and returned to the cozy sanctuary of his bedroom to say, “You know, if you don’t go back there, no one would blame you for it.”

“They’re my family. I should want to—I should _care_ that they were worried about me, even a little bit, even just at first—”

“No. They don’t care about you. You’re under no obligation to care about them.” And when Credence looks at him in surprise he adds, “Trust me baby, I’ve been there. Took a lot of time and therapy to train that ‘but I’m _supposed_ to want X person’s approval’ impulse out of me, believe me, but…listen, if you don’t ever want to go back to that house, I personally will make sure you never have to.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I know I don’t. But I will, because I love you and I _want_ to. I’ll help you move to a new place—hell, my place, if you want—change your phone number, your emergency contacts, advance directives if you have them, bank accounts, any of it. I can help you cut them all off completely if you want.”

Credence knows there are tears in his eyes, knows he is about to completely break. He stares at Graves in momentary shock and awe, the tears silently welling up and spilling over his cheeks. He is so full of love for this man he almost can’t stand it. “You’re always protecting me,” is what he finally manages to say.

Graves smiles and sets aside their plates so he can draw Credence into his lap. “It’s what I do, sweetheart,” he says tenderly. “I just want you to be happy, and comfortable, and safe…baby, that’s all I’ve ever wanted since the day I met you.”

Credence chokes out a little sob and buries his face in Graves’ neck, and murmurs a helpless thank-you into Graves’ shoulder as he reflects that is exactly what he is. Safe. Happy. _Loved._ Yes, he thinks contentedly as he melts into his new boyfriend’s gentle embrace, this Thanksgiving Credence certainly has a lot to be thankful for.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on twitter @CupcakeFoggy if you wanna squee about fandom together or send me a request - I do write present fics and I love to write fluff, so don't be shy! ^_^
> 
> Abusive marriage TW spoilers: Graves mentions to Credence that he was married to an abusive man who initially seemed charming but quickly grew possessive and unpleasant, the last straw being when he hit Graves in the mouth after snooping in his phone. It's all in conversation, very brief, no flashback scenes or graphic descriptions.
> 
> Implied child abuse spoilers: It's implied that Mary Lou beat Credence as a child, and outright stated that right up until he moved out after college she controlled his food intake, including trying to starve him at college by deliberately shortchanging his meal plan.
> 
> -Familial abuse spoilers: Credence's mother, grandfather, and uncles all torment him in different ways throughout the morning. Mary Lou repeatedly threatens him, restricts him from eating, forces manual labor on him, and verbally abuses him. One of his uncles trips him and causes him to break a glass (no blood or injury). His uncles also tease him cruelly and make homophobic comments. All of them criticize him, complain about him, and make him serve them while they sit there and watch TV.
> 
> -Homophobia spoilers: During the scene mentioned above, Credence's uncles accuse him of making up a girlfriend, then say he needs to "toughen up" so his future girlfriend can't beat him up; one of them then snidely says "or his boyfriend," and says that nursing is a "sissy profession."
> 
> -PTSD spoilers: Credence no longer lives with his family but still feels threatened by them, to the point that he still controls his behaviors as if he still lives at home (hoarding and rationing food in case he is cut off, hiding his private life and internet activity, keeping quiet when he doesn't need to).
> 
> -Drug use spoilers: Credence and Graves smoke a joint together during a family event; the effects of the high aren't described in too much detail, but it's definitely discussed and fairly obvious that they are in fact getting high as the conversation goes on.


End file.
